


Ozymandias

by The_Carnivorous_Muffin



Series: Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus [46]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Genocide, Master of Death Harry Potter, Murder, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 08:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15770094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Carnivorous_Muffin/pseuds/The_Carnivorous_Muffin
Summary: Jasper Whitlock faces his death at the hands of the destroyer of worlds and wonders if, after he has perished, if there will be anything left of them.





	Ozymandias

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory note that this is NOT CANON

It was twilight, the sun bled into the desert, painting everything in golds and deep reds, and he found himself staring into it in the way he hadn’t for many years, perhaps in a way that he never truly had, with wide eyes and a desperate heart aching fondness that he didn’t know he was capable of.

 

He had forgotten how beautiful the world was.

 

Never the less, he watched, eyes too sharp, as the shadows lengthened out from behind the cacti and cliff faces, underneath himself a dark maroon thing stretching out far behind him, interrupted only by the light refracting off his own skin in blues, greens, reds, and every color imaginable.

 

He would not blink, even if he had needed to, because this was to be the last thing he would see in his life.

 

For if he turned around, if he took a breath, he would smell the sickly-sweet scent of the pyres, of the blood of his brother (Peter, Peter’s blood was in there, somewhere, he should have made Peter run, him and his Charlotte, they should have all run…) as well as all the other newborn vampires, and even Maria herself for that matter.

 

Of course, they were the last of them, the last great stronghold of the south, all their competition had long since been burned. So now, now it was only him, and her.

 

The warmaker and red death, what a pair they must make.

 

The girl, she really was little more than a girl, just on the throes of adolescence, that leery age that any sane man would hesitate to turn (oh but she must have had such potential, this red headed not-woman, it must have practically bled off her), stared at him out of unnatural red eyes, eyes which blazed with an internal light more powerful than any sun.

 

Yes, newborn still, a few months old, and yet there was nothing newly born within her.

 

At that thought he felt a smile, a bitter smile, so filled with emotion that he’d long since thought drained out of him and kept staring forever, for only a moment, into the last sunset of his life.

 

Her words interrupted his thoughts by her high and clear voice, an oddly British accent paired along with it, “My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair.”  

 

Then, softer, almost fondly, he can hear the smile on her lips, “In some other world, I believe that you and I could have been friends.”

 

His own fingers did not twitch, he did not blink, instead he stared resolutely into the barren wasteland that had been his home now for so many years. So many wasted wretched years battling over land and blood and now all gone, wiped out an in an instant, because of some bastard’s hubris.

 

Jasper did not know who had turned her, here in the north of Mexico, he didn’t know where it had happened either, he only knew that by the time rumor of her, of red death, began to travel through the warring covens, she was already a lone figure, and already had so very many funeral pyres in her wake.

 

“There’s a bit of Clint Eastwood in your soul, warmaker, even enslaved to Maria you are a gunslinger through and through. And I am sorry to have to kill you,” and strange, that she could say it like she meant it, that she truly did mean it, that the sincerity can waft off her like waves that he so rarely felt from his fellow vampire.

 

There’s something cool and almost refreshing in sincerity, a clear-cut note of relief, of walking into a light shower of rain.

 

Maria had never once been sincere, it was not in her nature.

 

“But you will kill me,” he finished for her.

 

“Yes,” the girl responded, letting that single word linger for a moment, before expanding further, “Your people turned me into a demon, so that I could be your war machine, to provide some measure of dominance in your territorial pissing matches. I was a god before I was a vampire, warmaker, how did you expect this to end?”

 

He said nothing, remained stone faced, cold, and resolute as he stared into the slowly growing darkness.

 

“Your people have forgotten the meaning of hubris,” the girl expanded, almost casually, “I think you really think yourselves gods, which I think, frankly, is rather sad. I rather like vampires, on the whole, or I did before I wound up here. Except they never acted like you, no you’re like… Blood sucking wizards, it really gets to me… And I’m not digging this blood craving thing, I’m telling you, cannibalism never had any appeal to me before all this.”

 

Finally, Jasper interrupted, “What will you do when the Italians come?”

 

For they would come for her, to recruit her, perhaps, if they were fools. Or, perhaps they’d come to subdue her, but even with the might of Volterra behind them… They had whispered of her power, long before Jasper had even seen her he had heard of her, of her great and terrible abilities.

 

“The Volturi, you mean?” Lily asked, “I’ll probably get rid of them too, if I’m being honest. Though I suppose it depends on what exactly they choose to do when they meet me, I have a feeling though, that they’re not all that different from you folk.”

 

“And so they, too, will die… They are the only law in our world, you know,” in her though was a cold and clear understanding, unmuddled by pride or any true emotion, she knew, but it did not matter particularly to her.

 

“And what a law they have been, warmaker,” the girl said, the grin practically in her words, “But I don’t intend to stay here forever, I will find a way back to my own reality, even like this. So your laws, your world, they’ll never be mine. And this I promise you, warmaker, just as you have lived up to your titles I shall live up to mine.”

 

She reached out, turned his face from the sun so that he was staring into hers, her pale, glittering, face and her ruby red eyes, “Remember, Jasper, that I have and shall always be, the destroyer of worlds.”

 

And the sun set on them both.

**Author's Note:**

> Someone asked for a Twilight crossover and I wasn't sure this was what they had in mind, but damn, it's what they got.
> 
> Thanks for reading, comments, kudos, and bookmarks are greatly appreciated.


End file.
